


With the sea I did abide

by TaleWeaver



Series: Drops of Rain [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, RAMSEY GETS WHAT HE DESERVES, Ramsay is His Own Warning, jon and sansa will fall in love in any timeframe, no pirates allowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver
Summary: Life can be unpredictable on the high seas, especially when you're sailing onThe Flayed Man.





	With the sea I did abide

**1800's: Golden Age of Sail**

**Pacific Ocean**

  
Waymar Royce had dreamt of the sea since he was very small.  He'd wanted it badly enough to potentially be disowned for going to sea instead of the Wall, as spare Royce sons had done since knights gave way to the Army.  

But every morning for the past year, when he'd first signed upon _The Flayed Man_ , Waymar woke up wishing he'd gone to the Wall, instead. 

It wasn't that the tides had turned against him.  Waymar had worked hard to learn the ocean and her ways, and he'd put his knowledge against any other man on board  - except the First Mate, who Waymar was fairly sure had seawater in his veins instead of blood.  First Mate couldn't remember his own name, some days, but he could sense a current in the water faster than the wind could shift. 

On other ships, the first mate was a man to be both respected and envied.  But no one envied him his position on this ship.  Not with the... extra attention the first mate received from the Captain.  The last bosun had as well, before he'd worn out and been consigned to Davy Jones' Locker.  His replacement had all the sea-knowledge and fierce temper his Viking ancestors were famous for, and so big and burly that even the Captain wasn't quite crazy enough to take him on.  Quiet bets were going around the crew as to whether he'd challenge Captain Bolton for the ship or simply jump ship at the next port. 

Royce hoped he'd challenge Captain Bolton.  A couple of the crew had tried to leave at the first port after signing on, once.  Captain had somehow managed to track them through Kingston town, and brought them back to the ship.  Royce still had nightmares over what had happened then. 

Things had been easier for the crew in general the past few months... because the Captain had married.  When the crew saw her at meals, she was quiet and kind, but she was locked in the Captain's quarters most of the time, and the only one allowed in was First Mate. 

Many sailors held it was bad luck to have a woman on board a ship.  If that really was true, the bad luck on _The Flayed Man_ was all hers, poor wench.  The crew all agreed on that, even when she wasn't screaming in the night. 

But even on _The Flayed Man_ , when the sun shone and the wind blew and the ship all but leaped through the water, Royce was still glad he'd gone to sea. It was like that today, one of the days that gave him hope that things would get better.  

The wind had dropped for several minutes, so everyone on deck heard the odd gurgling sound from the captain's cabin.  No one had the courage to venture near. 

But everyone had at least one eye on the door when it opened, and the woman stepped out.  She had hair the colour of a sailor's-delight sky, tumbling loose to her waist like a slattern's, and wore nothing but a nightrail, fancy with embroidery and lace.  In other circumstances she might have been in trouble, amongst a crew of rowdy sailors who hadn't had a woman in months.  But the woman's nightgown was splattered with blood from neckline to ankle to wrist, great swaths of the stuff that led the eye in dizzying, sickening loops. 

She lurched forward one step, then another, and still another, until the burden she was dragging came into the sunlight. 

It was the Captain.  Dead, or dying, with a deep gash in his stomach marring the fancy red and white waistcoat he'd been so fond of.  The woman was somehow dragging him by the shirt collar.

She came further onto the deck, limping badly, and now the crew could see the First Mate carrying the Captain's ankles, dragging his arse along the deck.  Step by step, they slowly moved towards the railing, where they both sat down abruptly, dropping the Captain at both ends. After a nod from the woman, First Mate Greyjoy dragged off the Captain's boots, and handed them to the woman, who upended them, shook them, and wrenched at the heels.  Finding nothing, she handed them back and he put them back on the body.  She took off the Captain's pocket watch, the fancy silver one he liked to flash around, and slid the fancy rings off his fingers, the ones he wore when he was in the mood to hit someone to see them bleed.  First Mate Greyjoy dropped them in his own coat pockets, and reached out to grasp the woman's hands. Together, they struggled back onto their feet, then tried to lift the corpse. 

The dead silence was disturbed by a quiet harrumph.  The Bosun went to them, his hair as red as the woman's, and nodded respectfully.  He gently nudged the woman aside, and easily hefted the body.  He gave a brisk nod to First Mate Greyjoy, who had managed the Captain's legs, and together they toppled the former Captain over the railing, joining so many others in Davy Jones' Locker.

There should be enough good men in there to keep the evil bastard from escaping. 

The bosun didn't bellow any orders; instead, he took a step or two back, and joined the rest of the crew in watching the woman.  The widow, now. 

She looked half-dead, leaning on Greyjoy's arm, but at the same time she seemed more real than anyone else on board.  Suddenly, he remembered those stories the old bosun used to tell about mermaids, and how the more terrifying they were, the more they made a man want to draw closer. 

"As the Captain's widow, I now own this ship!" she pronounced.  "I may not know yet how to keep to a bearing, but I know where our cargo is supposed to be delivered.  I know exactly where to find a cargo after that, and another after that, and where to find supplies better than our late Captain was willing to pay for." 

At least one man was won on the spot at the prospect of better food. 

"You are the ones that sail this ship, but **I'm** the one who can turn a profit big enough to keep us all fed and a jingle in our pockets.  Are you with me?" 

One by one, the crew nodded, and they sent up a ragged cheer. 

"Good.  First order - Bosun Tormund?" 

"Aye!" 

"Get down the flag, and take it to pieces.  I'll make the new one myself.  Gentlemen, _The Flayed Man_ is no more.  From now on, you sail on board _The Red Wolf_.  May we have good seas, better food, and large profits!" 

This spurred a larger cheer.  Woman or not, the new captain obviously knew what a real sailor needed in life.

 "Crew, back to your posts!"

 The crew scrambled to obey, and suddenly the wind picked up, a good strong breeze that would take them swiftly away.

 

SIX MONTHS LATER

 Sansa hated being shut in the Captain's cabin, she'd spent too much time there as it was.  Today she was up in the crow's nest, relishing the fierce winds from the recent storm.  Her hair was in a tight braid to keep from tangling in the wind, she wore trousers regardless of how unladylike it was, and she'd taken Ramsey's coat apart, finding the bank notes in the lining, and remade it to fit, embroidering twin wolves on her lapels and making it hers instead of his.  Just as she'd made the ship hers instead of his, and remade Theon Greyjoy from First Mate.

 It was too windy for a hat, so even though she had kohl lining her eyes to cut the glare from the water, she still had to shield her eyes from the sun as she searched the horizon for signs of land, other ships, or even a dolphin or whale.  She still treasured the memory of the first whale she saw, mere hours after she'd killed Ramsey, and to this day she would swear it had winked at her in congratulations.

 It was when she turned to the north that she saw it.  A long, thick log in the water, with a huddled lump on top.  A person?

 She cupped her hands and yelled down to Tormund, then scrambled down the ladder in the most athletic fashion she could muster.  Tormund was readying the longboat by the time she reached the deck.  The person on the log was probably dead by now, but she'd spent so many nights thinking that this time, Ramsey would kill her, and he never had.  So this lost soul deserved every chance she could give them.

 She hopped over the railing into the longboat, and rode it down to the ocean impatiently.  Tormund and Waymar grabbed hold of the oars, and struck out for the bearing she'd deduced.

 It didn't take long to reach him, and Tormund simply dragged him off the log and into the boat like a half-drowned kitten.  He was average height with a head of dark curls, matted with seawater.  His shirt and pants were plastered to his body, and his boots and belt would never be the same.  Sansa crouched down to feel for a pulse in his wrist, and felt a weak but steady thumping.

 Then the mystery man stirred weakly, and moaned.  Sansa grasped his shoulder to help him turn over, and the man flopped like a dying fish.  Sansa brushed the inky curls off his face, and took a good look at quite possibly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.

 With another moan, the man opened his brown eyes…

 …and Sansa suddenly knew that her life would never be the same again.

  
**I was a sailor, I was born upon the tide**  
**With the sea I did abide**  
**I sailed a schooner 'round the Horn to Mexico**  
**I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow**  
**And when the yards broke off, they said that I got killed**  
**But I am livin' still**  
**\- "Highwayman", Kris Kristofferson**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Note: The age of sail runs roughly from the Battle of Lepanto in 1571, which proved sail power superior to oar-driven ships, to the Battle of Hampton Roads in 1862, which showed that steam power had rendered sail power obsolete in warfare. The period between 1850 and the early 20th century when sailing vessels reached their peak of size and complexity is sometimes referred to as the "Golden Age of Sail".
> 
> Author commentary: during my wiki rampage for the first section, I somehow stumbled across The Threepenny Opera, and the song 'Pirate Jenny', which gave me an idea for how Sansa and Jon met in this lifetime. Then I discovered I was scuppered by the historical record; the Age of Piracy ended in the 1720's, and I already had a story for that century. So I pulled a new backstory out of the trade winds, and I think it actually ended up being more faithful to Sansa as a character, anyway! I had a lot of trouble even getting started writing this section, until I finally realised that this time, Jon and Sansa falling in love or even being in love wasn’t the interesting story; this time the real story was about how Sansa got to the right place to meet Jon at all.


End file.
